Between Angels and Knives
by String Seraphim
Summary: An assassin struggles to survive in the harsh world of Midgard. His soul stands on the edge of a needle. Will he choose to save himself or will he find redemption in another form? R&R. PLEASE
1. Dissonance

Seraziel: Hello people this is my first Ragnarok fanfiction on fanfiction.net. This story is going to be a mix of Action/Adventure/Romance. The romance will be involving an Assassin and Priestess (may change). Anyway please review flames and constructive criticism welcomed as well as compliments (if any). Enjoy  
  
Author's note: I am writing this story as if it were a real world and when you die you don't just respawn. I am also making the fight scenes believable and that do not work like the traditional game so with that said read and please review.  
  
Between Knives and Angels  
  
Chapter 1: Dissonance  
  
Rain...rain is a natural occurrence. It holds no mysterious powers or alluring elements, yet people hold it at such a high regard that they forget the reasons for rain's existence, but they do this for a reason. The natural event can bring with it an aria of sorrow or a serene calm as it covers landscapes it can also be a violent squall of unforgiving rage as it rips through the skies that it poisons with black unforgiving clouds. Almost like the emotions of a person. People can relate to rain and the emotions it makes them feel, but some people enjoy the rain just because it happens and it reminds them that they are still alive.  
  
Sin, the general term for the man quietly sitting and leaning against a shambled wall as the rain poured around him in a silent torrent. The solemn figure sat with his viciously scarred arms draped over his knees. In one hand a fortune sword was being twirled through his fingers in a slow controlled progression from his index to his little finger and back.  
  
His hair was pure white and it hung in loose thin strands about his head. His bangs passed just below this forehead and tapered off as they progressed to the back were the unkempt strands met the end of his neck. Aside from the hair the man bore no interesting aspects except for one. Wrapped around his face was a blood red, ripped, and frayed cloth that overlaid his eyes. Signifying that he had lost his sight in some way and had to rely on his other senses for protection as well as survival. He also did not brandish the traditional color of the assassins instead his pants and shirt under the wrappings were jet black.  
  
The man's breath came in slow and labored, yet systematic inhales and exhales. His body was covered in gashes and cuts that his body would eventually add to its extensive collection of scars and marring injuries. Warm blood ran from the corner of his lightly smirking mouth in steady stream that dripped lightly off his chin and into a small crimson pool that had formed around his body. The assassin's mind moaned in dull blue pain as his life seemed to slowly drain from the many outlets that Glast Heim had so generously provided.  
  
"Damn, were are you today Lady Luck?" The assassin quietly asked his one fortune sword while the other hung loosely in his lightly clenched fingers, which dripped blood onto the enchanted blade. His mistress of probability had obviously not chosen his side of the coin this day.  
  
"Hell, of a day to take a vacation isn't it?" "Though I don't completely blame you for picking this day." "Kind of gloomy........ and this rain doesn't seem real, but at least it's quiet. Everyone needs quiet once in a while, right?" An incredible wave of realization washed over him, which left him with pained filled grin, when he finally realized he had been talking to a weapon this entire time. "Heh, this pain is making me a little crazy, oh well I have felt worse." A low chuckle slowly raised from his bruised diaphragm, then it stop just as quickly as it had come, and only the sound of rain permeated the air, but the rain's smell shifted from it usual aroma to a dead, rotting stench.  
  
The sin's head bolted up abruptly as the assassin had to roll to the side barely avoiding the lightning bolt that erupted from a cloud, which had appeared over his head. Unfortunately the rain that had covered the floor conducted some of the lightning's lethal current and the assassin received a taste of its own brand of pain, which would be added to the long library that the silent killer had already experienced.  
  
The shock filled his mind with hot white torture as it coursed through his blood. The agony fortunately also aided in waking him up slightly from his previous pain-induced torpor.  
  
The monster known as the Dark Lord before him moaned in disapproval of his presence and small sparks of black electricity crackled around him in sporadic, random volts.  
  
The damned creature then pointed its bony, decaying finger at the assassin in accusatory gesture before uttering a guttural scream and loosing another lighting bolt at the assassin. The sin barely dodged the devastating strike twisting to the left and shifting his weight to rims of his heels. Again the water on the ground conducted the current of the creature's attack, instantly finding its way into the hot blood of the sin.  
  
The man fell to his one knee after receiving the mind numbing shock and his body crackled with the dissipating remnants of the lightning. After he regained his footing the man turned to face his assailant only in time to meet yet another streak of dead black lightning that knocked him back to his knee and leaving his frame sparking with the dead electricity and burning white pain. .  
  
His body slowly regained a standing posture although forced and by no means what his body needed right now. He stood hunched over one arm hanging vertically while it grasped the hilt of the fortune sword and the other rose to his face crossing the blade of the other luck laced knife just under his chin. Breathing consisted of controlled hyperventilation coming in violent gasps, yet a gentle grin miraculously had found its way onto his battered lips.  
  
He loved this. He lived for this pain this agony that coursed through his body. The sheer thrill of putting your life on the high wire of probability and trusting the outcome of Lady Luck's coin toss. The pain, the hate, the battle it all reminded him that he wasn't dead yet.  
  
Pulling body into a firm offensive stance the sin began to weave his body in fluid constant motion. His movements were like water sifting in and out of itself as he shifted his weight among struggling muscles of his legs.  
  
Without warning the assassin lurched his weight forward in an unceremonious motion that seemed boneless and fluid at the same time. Running low to the ground with his feet thundering hard against the unforgiving cobblestone, and scraping both fortune-laced blades against the shambled floor eliciting violent yellow sparks while doing so.  
  
Distance became a memory as the space between the two combatants closed in seconds as death met undeath. Pulling all his weight up in a diagonal rising swipe aimed at the Dark Lord's chin. The demonic skeleton pulled backed and the blade missed its target by mere widths of a hair. After landing the sin twisted on his ankle as it hit the floor and shifted all his remaining force into his left arm as he turned. The assassin raked the fortune-imbibed dagger across the monster's torso in a vicious slash. Dead black blood spilled from the clean furrow in its stomach while the dead lord bellowed in murderous hot pain.  
  
The sin recoiled into a defensive stance and readied himself for the demonic lord's offensive. Grinning tiredly with light traces of silent insanity in his smirk the man waited with stomach warping patience.  
  
His chest clenched after each breath and it felt as if someone had shoved a knife down his throat and was slowly turning it. Invisible weights had tied to his limbs and their present combined weight felt like four tons. The odds were not in his favor and somehow that's what made this agony all the more exhilarating.  
  
Then the dark beast rose again to its full height growling in angry pangs of rage. Its eyes glowed a murderous lurid yellow and they were completely fixed on the assassin that just fought to stand at the moment.  
  
Again the assassin lunged, but the demon was more than prepared for the offensive pulled away from the man's range and the metal-laced strike missed its target. The sin gathered his unused momentum and pulled it into a straight stab aimed at the monster's neck, but before the attack could meet its destination the assassin's arm was caught at the wrist.  
  
"Damn". The sin hissed as he felt the blood being squeezed out of the veins in his wrist. Pulling its arm back the Dark Lord charged an orb of electricity in its palm and promptly released its crackling kinetic energy into the sin's chest. The wave of black shock knocked the sin back into one of Glast Heim's broken walls. Firmly imbedding his spine into the decaying stone. Blood shot from the man's mouth as the blow rattled the bones in his frame. Bits ands pieces of the wall were shaken loose from the impact, and the sin slumped to the ground along with them.  
  
The quiet rained returned violently sheeting over Glast Heim's disheveled floor. It took with it blood, debris, and unmoored souls that Glast Heim had mercilessly taken from the world of the living. The sin heard the deafening whales of the forgotten ghosts. Their screams drowned out the pain that had seized his body and they beckoned him to rise and avenge their deaths.  
  
The Dark Lord's feral smile and low baritone chortle joined the unceasing torrent. Pleased with its accomplishment it turned and began retreating from the battleground. Abruptly the malevolent sound ceased its progression and the demonic lord turned quickly. The demon stared with wide eyes at the event that took place before him.  
  
Slowly and ever so slightly the beaten and bloody assassin rose to a standing position. His body quaked with pain and hate as he clenched the fortune swords in his blood caked palms. The knuckles of his hands turned a bone white as quiet lunacy ran through his arteries and seeped from his every pore.  
  
The dark king roared in hateful rage whiled it pulled its arm back and readied it for the dead lighting that began to fill its skeletal palm. Thrusting its arm forward the Dark Lord loosed the black lightening directed towards the seemingly helpless assassin.  
  
"No" said the sin while raising his arm as the black electricity met him dead on only to veer abruptly around him striking a wall behind and promptly obliterating it.  
  
The sin then felt a pressure on his shoulder. He didn't even turn to see who it was because he didn't have to. The assassin knew she was smiling behind him his mistress of probability. Lady Luck was with him now and fear, doubt, and pain left his body in a sweep of warmth.  
  
Growling in detest the Dark Lord charged yet another lightning bolt to its hand fully intent on ending the bothersome assassin that was still miraculously alive. The damned creature pulled raised its palm to face the assassin's direction and effectively threw the lethal shock at the sin. Sporadic volts streaked towards the sin then like the one before quickly changed its direction and struck the ground leaving a crater.  
  
The undead monster's eyes widened in complete disbelief then creased and turned an angry lurid red. Suddenly both arms were raised and in each palm a ball of black lightening crackled with undead electricity. The demon's mouth opened wide and loosed a ground splitting scream as it threw bolt after consecutive bolt at the sin.  
  
His legs did not falter his arms did not flinch his body did not recoil and his heart did not skip one beat as the deadly electricity streaked towards him. Each and every bolt veered as they met him in merciless succession. Then the shocks stopped and the demonic god was left gasping while the sin was left grinning.  
  
"I'm going to kill you." The sin whispered quietly, yet the words held more viciousness than any attack. His statement contained limitless depths despite their simplexes. The words harbored quiet insanity and traces of the sorrow of a desperate human determined to continue living. With the last ounces of his will the silent killer faded from view using his assassin skills of cloak and then reappearing in front of the demonic lord.  
  
"Die" was all that was said before the sin unleashing a torrent of rapid- fire attacks to the undead monster. His arms were a blur of murderous strikes that cut away the undead king's defenses in the ensuing tornado of rage that had been let loose upon him. Finally the sin ceased his onslaught, but the Dark Lord was still standing or rather floating. The demonic being now bore cuts and furrows throughout its battered frame. It bled dead purple blood that ran freely from the many openings that had been etched by the sin's unwavering fury.  
  
The undead monster groaned in dull agony as the man in front of him had all but collapsed in exhaustion. Struggling to keep on his feet the sin stood with his arms hunched over and daggers scraping on the ground. A low chuckle trickled out of the assassin's lips and diffused into the crumbling walls of Glast Heim.  
  
Step after step the sin began walking towards his battered enemy. Finally he arrived at the barely standing demon and firmly imbedded his knee into the gash he had previously inflicted on the dark king's torso. The monster sputtered a guttural growl of pain as it fell unceremoniously onto its chest.  
  
"No mercy will be shown to one who deserves none." With this said the slayer of demons strattled the Dark Lord's back and knelt down. He then roughly grasped the demon lord's chin and violently pulled it up.  
  
"Do you hear them?" "They all screamed before you wrongfully took their lives." "You will not be given the same luxury." The silent murderer said his voice brimming with pangs of rage and lunacy. The words having been said the sin turned his blade backward and placed it at the Dark Lord's neck.  
  
"Go to Hell and stay there." The assassin said and raked the fortune-laced blade across the demon's neck thus ending its hateful existence in a plume of black undead mist.  
  
"Ashes to ashes dust to dust" Seraph said as he walked from the site of death and rot.

Seraziel: So what did you think please review and tell me what you think. You can email me at Seraph444comcast.net. Also I'd like some opinions on what female character I should use for the romance aspect of this story I was leaning towards priestess but it doesn't completely matter I can work with just about any character so GIVE ME YOUR OPINION.  
  
Authors note: OK I'm going to explain so stuff. The whole Lady Luck and fortune thing stems from an assassin build called perfect dodge assassin. It's a build that takes advantage of a sin's ability to wield two fortune swords. Along with Rosaries of flash and 99 luck a sin can attain roughly 62% perfect dodge, which means you have a 62% chance of dodging anything except skills. I currently have one of these and let me be the fist to say that its fun as hell to make a mob of like 20 monsters and just walk around with them causing lags with the thousands of lucky bubbles that appear over my head.


	2. In The Haze Of Memory

Seraziel: Hello again this is the second installment of my story Between Angels and Knives. Please read and give me your opinion on it. I greatly appreciated all the help people have given to me and I hope you will continue reviewing my work.  
  
Between Angels and Knives:  
  
Chapter 2: In The Haze Of Memory  
  
Survival is a skill that is only attainable through first hand experience. It cannot be taught through the wisest of men or studied from the most extensive of manuals.  
  
"The traits to which one must learn to continue living in this merciless world can only be learned through days of jagged life. For those that survive these turbulent times they are the ones who must either hold the sword to protect the developing daggers of the weak, or strike them down with the judging blade."  
  
The words of Seraph's father, Bardiel, echoed off the walls of his dreaming mind. His father had been the leader of a small village of assassins located deep in the Payon Forest. The place was astonishingly remote and little knew of its existence or cared to know of its existence. The village had long ago broken off any ties to the revered Assassin Guild, located somewhere in the Morroc desert, an event that greatly displeased the guild. Only a select few had ever defied the Assassin Guild, and they were not alive to tell about their brave, yet undoubtedly foolish betrayal.  
  
Seraph's father was a noble, yet undeniably cold man who taught Seraph all the skills of the silent murderers. He instructed Seraph on all the strengths and weaknesses of his sect, and how to utilize his speed and precision. Seraph was taught that his class lacked strength, and to compensate for the loss in power they increased the accuracy of their strikes making every attack critically damaging to their target.  
  
Seraph was told that all the fighting styles and ancient martial arts that other assassins had been taught were useless and only prepared assassins for certain situations, leaving them at a disadvantage in others. He had been taught not to be offensive or defensive in battle, but reflexive. Seraph learned not to anticipate movement, but to have enough speed and skill to react to an offensive that had already happened. With this method Seraph received training, which gave him vicious speed and enough resilience to endure the libraries of pain that came with being an assassin. Through his father's mentoring Seraph became a deadly shadow worthy of the title, assassin.  
  
But there was a skill that Bardiel noticed in his son that he had not taught him. This was his unusual control over luck and probability, which presented itself at an early point in the boy's life.  
  
Flashback:  
  
The rain poured down in a torrential fury enveloping everything in a rapid- fire shroud of gray. Seraph stood only a boy of 13 bloodied and beaten with knives protruding in random locations from his battered body. There was no time to think, to judge, to guess or even feel. Just reflex was the boy's only saving grace in this wonderfully vicious training exercise.  
  
"You must be faster." "Otherwise you will never be as strong as him." Bardiel said. His words were commanding and forward, yet were uttered with unwavering indifference. Nothing was held back in the simple phrase directed at his permanent son, and temporary enemy.  
  
Bardiel was a tall mountain of a man with wild gray hair and withered wind blown face. The rough furrows in his cheeks made him look much older than he actually was, and the various scars on his body stood as living proof of his fighting prowess. They stood as physical memories that Bardiel had indeed lived through the deadly battles that he received the marring wounds in. Bardiel's arms were sculpted and chiseled by Death's scythe and had become vicarious instruments to which Death exacted his unforgiving duty. The blue eyes of Seraph's father were dull and held a quiet indifference in them, but at the same time harbored a relentless burning love for mortal combat, and with that came a silent insanity - a beast that every warrior must learn to control.  
  
In each of Bardiel's hands were knives completely poised to take the life of his son. No mercy, no remorse, no forgiveness existed in this moment that this father and son shared.  
  
"Watch his hands, watch his legs, watch his muscles for God's sake watch!" Seraph's mind screamed. Any one of the daggers his father had could easily take his life with nonexistent mercy. There was no fear in Seraph's heart because there was no time to be afraid. Fright could steal the precious seconds he needed to survive this ordeal.  
  
Bardiel's left arm became a blur as he nonchalantly loosed a knife at his son. Summoning his all weight and dumping it into his right leg Seraph pulled back as much as his injured body would allow. Seraph's efforts were rewarded as the dagger grazed his cheek cutting a red furrow in the skin as it passed with relative harmlessness.  
  
"Well done Seraphael." Bardiel said with usual dead voice, yet the words unmistakably held hints of pride in his son. Seraph's face lit up with those words. His father was finally acknowledging him as his son.  
  
"But it is not over yet." The color in Seraph's cheeks drained as if it was being poured out as a second blade was hurled in his direction. His eyes blurred as fate threatened to split his face in two equally bloody halves.  
  
Seraph came to realize the irony that his father was going to be the one to take his life. He didn't like it, but it wasn't a question of liking the situation but accepting it, and Seraph simply did not accept that this was how he was going to die.  
  
So something snapped in Seraphael's mind that day. A barrier was shattered in his brain, giving rise to something, something that had no tangible form or substance, but was still undoubtedly there and had been there for a while. It was a tug at his mind a violent pull into a corridor of his skull that was encrusted with the cobwebs of disuse. Seraph pushed the aged strands aside slowly clearing the untapped space. There on the floor of his mind Seraph caught sight of his salvation from the cold fingers of his death. The form of this saving grace was that of a golden coin. One side of the coin beheld a Reaper with a judging scythe in hand, and on the other an Angel with a sword meant to protect those of the weak.  
  
Seraph held the coin and made the decision.  
  
"Not just yet." He was not ready to die just yet, not just yet. So the coin spun as it was flipped in his mind. His salvation or untimely death was to be determined Lady Luck's whim. Seraph desperately hoped she was in a good mood this day as the coin hit the floor of his mind.  
  
Seraphael's eyes shot open as the dagger abruptly veered from its intended coarse and harmlessly struck the saturated ground to his left.  
  
Bardiel for the first time in his life was surprised. Astonished beyond belief were the only words that could remotely describe what he was feeling. Although all this transpired internally, externally Bardiel did little more than raise his eyebrow, and took the spitting image of a six foot five brick motionless and emotionless.  
  
"It seems she has chosen you to be her vessel Seraphael." Bardiel said using Seraph's full name.  
  
"Who has chosen me?" Seraph asked completely bewildered.  
  
"Lady Luck has chosen you to be her child." Replied Bardiel. Seraph just gazed at the drenched ground beneath him in a dumbfounded stupor.  
  
'Why has she chosen me?' Seraph questioned himself.  
  
"It seems we will have to develop this skill for it seems your future will be determined by the flip of a coin."  
  
"Yes." Seraph responded in a quietly dead tone. He had not chosen this and was not sure if he wanted this cursed gift.  
  
"You should do your best to earn her favor. As long as you hold her smile she will not leave you."  
  
Seraph simply nodded in affirmation, though he was unsure of himself now, and would have to learn to cope with the newfound trait.  
  
"Fortune has smiled on you today Seraphael do not turn your back on her. Make her proud and make me proud as well for it seems there is a brewing storm in our village's future. Our serene solitude it seems is destined to come to an end like all things in this world eventually do." Bardiel's voice grew faint as he turned and began to recede from the training ground leaving his son to heal and accept himself.  
  
Seraziel: So what do you think? I'm sorry it took so long to get this out but I have been kind of busy with other projects and this is sort of just a side thing I'm doing. Anyway please give me your opinions, flames, or encouraging statements.  
  
Sayonara


	3. A Hymn For Scars

Seraziel: Ok I'm back again with the third installment of this fic and hope to continue with more chapters. I wish people would review it a little more though even if you don't like it tell my why so I can make it more to your liking. Anyway, as for the people who have responded with constructive criticism and/or encouraging comments I thank you from the deepest regions of my heart. I hope you will continue to read and review this story.

Between Angels and Knives

Chapter 3: A Hymn for Scars

Memories. Memories define our past whether we want them to or not, and memories were what plagued Seraph's unconscious mind. They had carved fissures in his history and no matter how many bandages he applied to the wounds the tortured blood of his past continued to bleed through. He remembered every tale behind every one of his scars as if they had been written into the story that was his life. Each one had a small legend that reminded him that his time on this earth was not yet over. There were still things to be done; he couldn't die just, yet not just yet.

Flashback:

Seraph walked. He walked for so long that all he seemed to remember was the quiet scrape of his feet against the slowly changing terrain. He walked from the dead and shambled ruins of Glast Heim through the thick enchanted forests of Geffen to the sweltering sands of the Morroc desert. His gaping wounds wept as he trudged leaving an unrelenting red trail behind him as he proceeded toward an unknown destination.

'Just walk. Just keep walking. It doesn't matter were or why, just walk. Walk until you can't walk anymore or until the tortured heart in your chest dies.' But Seraph knew nothing in his being would allow him to die now. He outright refused to die. It was as simple as that. He had stared Mr. Grim Reaper (on more than one occasion) in the face and promptly spat in it (on more than one occasion). Needless to say Mr. Grim had been chasing him ever since Seraph's first scar.

The heat of the desert clawed and clutched his form sending more waves of exhaustion through his body. Each step Seraph took came slower than the last as his body and mind fought an internal civil war. Seraph's brain screamed at him to keep moving while his quickly weakening body shouted the opposite. 'Just quit.' His muscles heaved forward. 'Just give up.' Another lurch of his legs. 'Just die.' "No." Seraph answered tersely to his shrieking limbs.

Still he managed to keep a small grin on his tortured lips. He was still alive; he had not died in that Godforsaken pit of death and decay. A small part of him was amazed with this fact, honestly surprised that he could continue to draw breath into his battered body. Seraph remembered pain ripping through his body with each step, yet he was happy to still be able to feel that pain. He was glad to feel the unforgiving heat that encircled his bleeding, broken frame. Elated to still be alive.

Seraph then vaguely remembered falling as the burning yellow sand of Morroc finally succeeded in attaining a firm grip on his foot. Mr. Reaper laughed haughtily in his head. "What are you going to do now boy?" He asked as the angle Seraph's drifted forward. The fall seemed to last an eternity before his frame eventually met the ground in a disheveled heap as the death angel snickered.

'Damn' Seraph's mind wheezed. Obviously not pleased with the event

For the first time in Seraph's life he considered not getting up. As he lay there engulfed in the epitome of agony his mind weighed the pros and cons of standing or allowing the condors, peco pecos, desert wolves or whatever Morroc, desert scavenger decided to eat his beef jerkified (A/N: not a word I know) carcass.

'Would it be so bad' Seraph thought. Suddenly Seraph remembered burning......just burning flames surrounding him and a face he would never forget. That was all the motivation he needed as Seraph began making the proper arrangements in his muscles to get up, and maybe die somewhere else, but definitely not here.

Seraph pressed his hands against the hot sand and began to push, and slowly but surely his body began to rise. Suddenly his muscles lost their hold as Mr. Reaper kicked his wrists and he fell back to the granulated ground beneath him with a dry grunt.

'Round two' Seraph's mind said with mock enthusiasm. Even the voiced inside his head sounded exhausted and drained. Sluggishly he began the process again this time using his right knee to brace himself against the sand so as not to fall again. His arms quaked as they forced his chest up and away from yellow sand. Finally he made it to a kneeling position and was proceeding to make the crucial step towards righting himself. Seraph forced his left leg out and his foot had successfully planted itself in the burning Morroc sand. Using his right arm to steady himself Seraph slowly rose to his goal, a standing position.

Seraphael breathed a sigh of relief as victory bells rang in his head. He made the decision to start walking and proceeded to take a careful first step. Abruptly darkness began to settle around his senses. Each one of his senses began to shut down one by one.

'No........ not now, not now. So close.......I was so close. Seraph stumbled slightly then stood straight again struggling to retain conscious thought. His thoughts became hazy and erratic as the deep black settled over his consciousness. Seraph's balanced finally failed him, his finally feet lost there hold on the yellow sand, and his mind finally succumbed to the terrifying embrace of unconsciousness.

Seraph feared sleep. It could be considered a silly phobia, but the thought of being so vulnerable disturbed him. Seraph rarely slept and when he did he made sure it was in a secluded area. Every time sleep would take his conscious mind nightmares would rape and infest his dreams. Nightmares of that day, that burning bloody day of his past plagued him to no end. God he wished he could forget that day, and that smile, that sick twisted smile. That sneer was burned into his memory like a scar on his brain, and his maddening laugh rang in Seraph's ears like an unending echo. He would never be rid of that memory it would plague him until his death.

Seraph only hoped that when he awoke it wouldn't be to the hymn of angels.

End Flashback

Seraph's senses awoke to a quietly hummed melody. His awareness came in gradual increments as the baritone, slow, and melancholic, but unmistakably feminine hum permeated the air. For a while the quiet unending hymn was all his brain could perceive. This terrified and soothed Seraph at the same time. One side of his mind screamed to him that he had actually died and Mr. Grim was dragging his ass to Hell as his death choir sang psalms of victory for their master. The other side of his brain could not get over the unrelenting beauty in the melody. It made him want to never move again. He felt trapped by the hypnotic lullaby and it ensnared every one of his senses..........except one.

It hit him like boulder being dropped on his body, and he was rudely reminded that he was not dead yet. Whether this was a good thing or not Seraph was unable to determine as the pain spread even to his fingertips, but Seraph did inwardly smile as he swore he heard Mr. Reaper snap his fingers in a Damn-Lost-Him-Again gesture as he trudged off like a child who lost at his favorite game.

The pain hit him like a tidal wave and he almost let a moan of agony escape his throat, but caught the pain laced sound midway up his neck. Finally he regained control over his body's impulses a trick that his father had taught him.

"_No human reaction is an involuntary one."_ His father had said. _"All senses and impulses can be controlled through concentration and focusing on those specific reactions_." After enough practice and repetition Seraph was eventually able to silence these instinctive impulses or make them scream.

After collecting what little thoughts were available and shoving enough pain into the back of his mind Seraph began to take in his surroundings and general atmosphere.

His nostrils flared and inhaled the almost overpowering stench of his own blood, which quite frankly fucked his analysis of the air. The only piece of information he discerned from the waft was that he inside a house and on a bed, which told just about jack and shit and neither of those to were useful information.

The harmonious hum still filtered throughout the room with its soothing lull albeit, basically negating his ability to hear anything that might give a hint to his current location.

Tasting the air was completely out of the question because of the vast amount of blood that still tainted his taste buds with the flavor of shredded metal.

And pain continued to keep its vicious hold on Seraph's sense of touch and feeling. His nerves and temperature receptors had been completely captured by the accursed sixth sense.

Seraph mentally sighed at his current situation and came to the final conclusion that nothing could be done in his current condition. Seraph finally opted that healing was the best choice among his limited list of selections. His body quickly tensed as it prepared for the onslaught of nightmares that he would undoubtedly have, but his resolve was to fight every one of them and deafen himself to their false words and accusations.

Almost all of Seraph's senses receded into recuperation the one that stayed was his hearing. Try as he might he could not shut out the mesmerizing hum that permeated the air. His body relaxed to the hymn and suddenly the pain that encompassed his frame was a slightly more bearable.

'Who is this man?' the question had been plaguing her ever since she found his unconscious frame surrounded in a pool of his own blood. She decided that this man's identity would be determined at a later date and right now her deepest concern was concerning him and his health. She couldn't let him die no one dissevered to die alone like that.

The woman's garb immediately told whatever onlooker that she was of the hunter class, and a force not to be taken lightly by any other sect of Midgard's warriors. Her hair was of a light cobalt blue curling in and stopping at chin level (A/N: Hair 11 if anyone cares). Her eyes brandished dark reddish brown, which were deep and expressive. Her skin held a light tone not pale but no were near tanned.

The woman sat pulling the string tight on her compound crossbow all the while humming a tune that had lost its name in the ages of the past. A tune so old that that bards and dancers quite frankly had forgotten its name, but its name was not what made the tune itself memorable it was the emotions behind the melody that made the song brave the long years of Midgard's history. She let the unnamed song vibrate from throat with hopes that it would sooth the sleeping man she had found. Fully enveloped in the nightmarish hands of REM sleep he seemed to be having numerous troubled dreams. His face was ever so slightly contorted into mask of quiet determination like he was losing a battle that seemed impossible to win in the first place. She raised from the chair she had been sitting in and sat at his bedside. Tentatively she rested her palm on his troubled brow and within a few moments his visage relaxed and his breathing became even again. A smile painted her features honestly happy that she had caused someone content rather than pain or fear.

Author's Note: Well that's the third installment. I've pretty much completed this series and the other chapters will come soon for those who care. All I have to do is revise them and fix my ungodly number of grammatical mistakes. Thanks for all the support thus far.

Sayonara


	4. Awaking A Fallen Angel

Seraziel: All right here's number four hope you like it. I'll be getting into the more relationship aspect of the story now and downplay some of that angst heh heh.

Between Angels And Knives

Chapter 4: Awaking A Fallen Angel

    "_You're awake. You're Awake............... You're Alive" _These words repeated in a ceaseless reverb bouncing off the walls of Seraph's skull. They felt far and unreachable at first but slowly began to come in to a discernable focus. Dull blue ache diffused into his system like a lazy virus, though on the bright side the pain he felt was considerably less than before and could easily be pushed aside and forgotten. His wounds still screamed like dying martyrs, but the storm of agony was beginning to dispel as the thundering pain that crashed in his ears slowly began to subside. The roaring rains had finally ceased their torrents and left him to dry and recuperate in quiet peace.

    Seraph's senses violently came into feeling as if someone was throwing electrical switches inside his head. He was overloaded with his own enhanced sensory perception and had to put some effort into retaining his consciousness. Slowly but surely he senses were once again slaves to his will as they were intended.

    Seraph was tired, tired of nightmares, tired of the fear the plagued him unendingly. Seraphael was just tired, but despite this Seraph's exhaustion was a secondary concern at the moment. He had been tired before. His current exasperation was not a new feeling and an easy one to put aside. The first concerns that shocked through his available thoughts were that of three simple things. One: Were the hell was he? Two: Wear the hell was his weapons? Three: Were the hell was his blindfold? He felt an uncomfortable nakedness without his blades or blindfold. He felt that there was an intangible tie between his weapons and he. The feeling came to resemble something akin to the loss of a friend, yet he had never really had friends so the feeling was slightly confusing to him. Seraphael finally gave up the trying to figure out the enigma that was his emotions and settled on determining his immediate location.

    The air was warm like a room temperature embrace, but having never felt an embrace the feeling again was an alien one. He quickly gave up trying to understand it and opted to just enjoy it if only for a little while. Seraph clutched moments such as this fore they were few and far between. He took what little moments he had and held on to them for as long as they lasted. These moments were part of the reason why he kept going. It was moments like these that kept the scarred heart beating in his chest.

    "Are you awake?" A soft feminine voice stated and after a second he felt her hand rest on his forehead. _Instinct_ effectively drop kicked _reason_ in Seraph's mind as his dead left eye flew open and he bolted towards the voice. Seraph shot up faster then her eyes could even follow and before she new it his strong fingers were wrapped firmly around her slender neck.

    'Fast! He's so fast!' Were the only things she could think of in that millisecond as terror shot through her like fright laced electricity. Adrenaline began to course through veins and arteries as her body's defense mechanisms triggered. He held her suspended a foot in a half above the floor.

    'He's going to kill me and I don't even know his name.' Her mind gasped, but that was all she seriously thought. This might be the period at the end of the final sentence of her story.

    All she wanted right now was one look at his eyes and then she could die. She managed to tilt her head to the side slightly to accomplish just that. She just wanted to see them once. All the hunter wanted to know was if she had saved the life of a murderer. The woman's gaze connected with those dead eyes. His one open eye was a dull rose red. Two clean, neat scars overlaid the useless windows, one of them was vertical crossing over his right eye, and the other was a horizontal wound that crossed over his left and over lapped the other eye forming a scarred cross over his right eye. From what she saw it looked as if only one of the marred eyes could open, but it meant little as she could tell that he was obviously physically blind, but the orb seemed to pierce right through her like anything that it beheld. The man's pupil had shrunken into a pinpoint inside the wide expanse of the blood colored iris.

    In this moment she saw only one thing, and although his features and expression did not show it under the eye she sensed nothing but a deep heart wrenching sadness. It physically hurt to look at the eye. Melancholy seemed to pour out of it like an unending torrent of crimson tears, but she found that she could not rip her own set of brown windows from his emotionless mask. Tears began to flood her own eyes not from her own impending death but because of the overwhelming aria of sorrow that spilled from the gate of Seraph's retina. She felt the pain almost as if it was her own.

    Suddenly _reason_ came to its senses inside Seraph's head and effectively took its revenge when it battered _instinct_ into submission and regained a hold on Seraph's mind. Seraph's snapped back to realty violently and a gasp escaped his lips as he quickly relented his grip on the woman's throat and slumped to his knees in a disheveled broken motion. The hunter stumbled back coughing and taking sharp intakes of sweet precious breath as she braced herself against a wall.

    "I............I'm.............I'm sorry." His voice just managed to clear the hurdle of a whisper, but somehow the woman knew that even if he had mouthed the words she would have still heard them.

    "It's.... (gasp).....alright .....(gasp)." She wheezed. "I shouldn't ...(gasp)......have startled you. When she finally regained her ability to breathe normally she looked at her attacker and found that his look to be nothing but apologetic. This relieved her to no end as it proved that she had saved angel albeit maybe a fallen one.

    The hunter's gaze then turn to his frame, which was now bleeding profusely again after she had gone through painstaking efforts to stop it before. She rushed to his side without a second of hesitation.

    "Oh no you're bleeding again." Seraph looked back at her apologetically and replied again.

"..............I'm sorry." She looked at him quizzically honestly baffled that he was apologizing for bleeding.

    "There is no need to be sorry, but I need you to take off your shirt if I'm going to be able to stitch up those wounds of yours." Seraph's head dipped lower when she said this

    "What's the matter? Is something wrong?" She asked. Seraph's downcast head turned to meet her perplexed gaze.

    "............ I must warn you that it is not something you would want too see." The hunter's stare grew even more confused at his reply.

    "Why, I have to stop the bleeding or you might die." She said as concern tainted her voice. Seraph did not give her a reply as his vision shifted downward.

    'That's right.' He reminded himself. 'I can't die yet.' So he compiled with her request despite his reluctance. He took the lip of the bottom of his assassin uniform and began to peal it upwards. The material clung to his frame like a second skin as the blood and sweat had dried under the garment. With some effort Seraph finally completed the act and met the widening stare of the hunter who was his savior. Her eyes grew wide as bile simultaneously rose in her throat as she beheld the very vision of torture.

    'Scars.' 'So many..........scars.' Her mind gasped as her body slumped to its knees. The only words that could describe the scene before her were skin graveyard. The amount and size that littered Seraph's frame was appalling. They ranged from jagged and sloppy to straight and clean. The furrows claimed almost every inch of his upper body. There were very few portions of his skin left unmarred by they the vast amount of permanent wounds. Metal mesh wires were pinned at random points on his body. It seemed that screws and needles held his flesh together and she feared that if one were removed he would fall into a disheveled heap on her floor.

    His build was thin and lean. What little muscles she could discern from the viciously scarred form slumped before her were defined and shaped flawlessly. Being an assassin his build was not meant to have large bulging muscles and to have them would immensely hinder his mobility. That type of structure only belonged on a knight or crusader. His arms were slender, but again they seemed as if some sick sculptor had chiseled them.

    'What's this sadness in my heart.' Her mind asked as the organ felt as if it was slowly sinking into her stomach. Some of the wounds were bleeding and that sight snapped her out of the trance that had captured her gaze. The burning red of those cuts shocked her into an appalled attention. She blinked as reality figuratively slapped her in the face and she realized she had been staring at him for over five minutes and a blush of shame washed over her delicate features.

    The hunter wordlessly stood and proceeded to walk over to the fallen warrior. Slowly she knelt next to the downcast assassin. Seraph's vision was filled with nothing but the floor. Suddenly warmth washed over his broken body and he felt his savior's arms slowly encircle his bleeding frame.

    'Why.' His mind asked as this astonishing event took place. No one had ever shown him any kindness during his life. Confusion and another enigmatic emotion tore through his blood like an oiled knife.

    'What is this warm feeling, why do I feel so content like this.' Seraph realized that this was one of those fleeting moments of happiness that came by every once in a while. He decided to stop contemplating the unknown emotions he was feeling and just give in to the first embrace he had ever experienced.

    "I'm so sorry." She said as she tightened her embrace around the sorrowful sin. His body was rigid and unsure of the gesture at first but finally her hug was accepted.

    ' No one deserves the kind of pain that this man had to endured..................... No one.' She thought as she began to hum the tune that she had before, the nameless song that had driven away his nightmares and personal demons. He at least deserved some form of comfort.

    "...............Thank you......for your kindness" The sin said after an untold amount of time passed. He raised his head to meet her line of vision. She smiled brightly back at him. Her features then took on a slightly confused expression.

    "Hasn't anyone ever treated you with compassion?" Seraph's silence was all the reply that she needed, this man had never been exposed to any form of caring. At that moment she resolved with herself that she would do her best to give him the happiness that she new he deserved.

    The two warriors were locked into this position for what seemed like hours, neither quite ready to relinquish the comfort that the other offered. Truth be told neither of them cared how long they had been like this. It would last for as long as it lasted and that was that. Simple and undeniable.

    Finally her arms relaxed and retracted from Seraph's body they returned stained with more than just blood they returned with something you couldn't put a name or label on. He looked at her arms and tainted hands.

    "I'm sor....." "There is no need to be sorry." She interjected smiling warmly at him. His was reply was that of his own weak smile. At this her grin grew ten times over.

    "What's you're your name if I may ask."

    "Seraphael." He whispered almost inaudibly.

    "My name is Yumi and I am glad I met you Seraphael."

A/N: Well that's chapter 4 more will come fairly soon. I just have to go back and fix the mountainous amount of errors I make heh heh. Please read and review.

A/N 2: I chose that name for the hunter because Yumi in kanji means bow and it also means beautiful. So just a little quirk I added.

A/N Responses:

Tom Valor: Thanks for your support and the constructive criticisms. What I meant with the Rem thing is that, that kind of sleep suggests dreams. Were as deep, deep sleep isn't really that poetic and doesn't suggest that Seraph sleep would contain dreams. I just wanted to get that across. I will take you up on your advice on the author's note thing though so thanks.

Skye Mihalak: Thank you for the review it was greatly appreciated.

The Ultima: It's always nice to have that kind of encouragement thanks.

Ana: There's your love team. Hope it pleases you in later chapters.

Tyrant Flame: I hope that your computer starts working. Thanks for the support.


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